


Carry You Home

by damagedpickle



Series: Christmas Exchange [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Fic Exchange, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, No Incest, No Slash, Pre-Canon, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damagedpickle/pseuds/damagedpickle
Summary: Both Ben and Klaus go into the Umbrella Academy with the best of intentions for one another, but as the team begins to crumble, so too does their once unbreakable bond.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Christmas Exchange [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082474
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Carry You Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrugglingGay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrugglingGay/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Amelie! Writing this thing gave me a new appreciation for just how fucking long 5000 words is, so I hope it turned out okay, because I will admit I was very tired by the end.
> 
> There was originally a prompt for this, something like: Person A and Person B exploring each other's bodies but in like a platonic way- as you will see I have deviated substantially from it though.
> 
> Please be mindful of the tags!
> 
> Also, there is a playlist, because that's just how I am: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6N52vPvpAXAUuuGOpSVKmn?si=icQK_1mqSumNgXx_E9pR_Q

Ben was dripping blood all over the once spick and span tiles of the bank, brown eyes wide open, in shock or horror or guilt- Klaus wasn't sure exactly which it was. What he was sure of, however, was the need for them to leave immediately. He knows how Ben feels about the Horrors, the repulsion and the shame. The last thing Ben fucking wants right now is to go gloat about the people he killed, he told Klaus this exactly the night before. It was bizarre, that Hargreeves had seemed to anticipate the robbery, but Klaus was honestly grateful he'd had time to mentally prepare. He had a plan at home, for him and Ben both, all written down on the wall behind his bed; he just needed to get to it.\

Instead, they were stuck at a blood press-conference.

Hargreeves was going on and on about the _fate of the world,_ and other bullshit like that- Luther was soaking it all up, basking in the attention like it was some sort of fucked up afterglow- and here Klaus was simply trying to achieve the extremely reasonable task of giving his brother basic medical attention. Nobody had even bothered to come forward with a cloth, the bastards. The cameras just flashed.

Clicked.

Flashed.

Clicked.

Flashed.

The ride home in the limousine was awkward to say the least. Apart from some brief attempt at praise by Hargreeves, there was no comment on their performance. Luther and Allison were gushing together about something or other- making everyone within a thirty-mile radius ill, Klaus was sure- Diego was muttering absently to himself, while Five sat in absolute silence besides a sullen Vanya. All through the car, coppery red ran, invading the nose of its occupants. In his mind, Klaus dared one of them to mention it, as though it was Ben's fault he sat drenched in the sticky crimson. It'd been on Luther's fucking orders anyways.

Prick.

Reaching the mansion, Ben and Klaus were the last two left inside the car. 

"Come on, Ben. We're home now, let's get you cleaned up."

Ben sat faced forward, head faced pointedly away from Klaus. 

"We can go nick something from Dad's office? One of Luther's records?"

The blood on Ben's jaw had a few undefined pieces stuck in it, they dripped down into his lap.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Splat.

Klaus desperately hoped they weren't brains. Somehow, that was substantially more unsettling than skin or muscle. Brains were sentiment. Brains had feelings. Brains had memories.

"Ben, we gotta go inside, c'mon." He gripped Ben's hand tightly, tugging him out of his seat. A clean patch of leather was left behind where he had sat, forming a neat ring of vile scarlet.

Hand in hand, they trudged up and down the numerous stairs and corridors, silence floating between them. The bathroom, to Klaus' dismay, was occupied; supposedly Allison's hair was equally important in this situation. With a handful of damp cloths taken from the kitchen, the brothers found themselves on the hard floor of Klaus' bedroom, wiping up the blood as best they could. 

"Is any of this yours, Ben? Like, you're not bleeding, are you?"

For no reason in particular, it was this question which returned Ben to the present. "I hope not. I don't actually know what they do, I kinda just zone out when they're... out."

"Shit." Klaus hurriedly began helping Ben undress, removing his blazer, sweater and dress shirt, tactfully ignoring the distinctive splatter of blood concentrated in the centre of his chest. The cloth ran up and down Ben's body, leaving pink, watery residue in its wake, a desperate search for abrasions and tears.

Thankfully, the search came up empty, revealing nothing but pale skin and bony ribs.

Ben was still an awful mess, however. The cloths Klaus had managed to swipe were now stained irrevocably, saturated completely. Ben himself was dripping wet, pinkish water running down his exposed torso. 

"Maybe Allison's done in the shower now, you should get yourself properly cleaned."

But Ben didn't budge. "What about your eye?"

Klaus straightened indignantly. "What about my eye?"

"It's black."

Klaus extended his hand to Ben, gesturing towards the open bedroom door. "I think I heard Allison getting out."

Ben shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. The picture was significantly less intimidating than he had desired it to be, given that he still somewhat resembled a drowned cat, but communicated his feelings to Klaus well enough. "I'm not leaving 'til you're fixed too."

A defensive splutter came from the taller boy, but eventually Klaus relented and sat back down. Rummaging under the bed, Ben produced a vial of disinfectant and slowly dabbed it across the bruising eye.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I'll be fine, Mum can patch me up later."

The hand paused. "Klaus. Don't think you have a say in this."

"Fine. But you're getting straight into the shower afterwards."

Klaus supposed he would have to accept Ben's nod as a sufficient response. Begrudgingly, he sat as his brother reversed their roles, tenderly fixing up his various scrapes. This wasn't how it was supposed to have gone- Klaus was meant to be helping Ben. But here they sat, together alone in the mansion. If one another was all they had, it was imperative they stuck together. Klaus would have to accept Ben's affections in return.

* * *

As the fire escape rattled against the brick wall, Ben smelt the overwhelming musk of marijuana and nicotine grow stronger with every bang. Tousled brown hair appeared at the base of the window, a beacon breaking through the long night, as Ben lent in to push the pane upwards.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

A loud yelp and several crashes of increasing volume followed Ben's words almost immediately.

"Christ on a cracker, Ben!" A severely battered and bruised Klaus clambered through the window, knocking a lamp, notebook and several books off of the nightstand as he dragged his legs over the windowsill. "You could have killed me!"

"And what a tragedy that would have been." Despite the sarcasm loaded into his speech, Ben reached down to help Klaus into a sitting position, just in time for him to throw up into a pre-emptively positioned trashcan. "You could have just as well killed yourself out there tonight, so don't you try and turn this on me."

Klaus performed an action vaguely resembling a pointing gesture, before burying his head and retching once more. Sighing to himself, Ben retrieved a glass of water and wordlessly slipped it to his semi-conscious brother. Ben’s hands found themselves into his hair, raking it clear of the sweaty, sick mess that was Klaus. Brushing a longer strand aside, a cluster of vicious red bruises cascading down his neck. This was far from the first night Klaus had come home inebriated and debauched, but it had been occurring with increasing frequency over the past few months since Five had disappeared. And each time he came back, he was all the more worse for the wear. As Ben removed the flimsy jacket covering Klaus’ worryingly thin body, flakes of white powder fell softly onto the carpet, and plastic crinkled in its pockets. With just few shakes, three bright blue pills dropped out, held together in a tiny zip-lock bag.

Under his breath, Ben began muttering to himself, venting his frustrations to the air. “Stupid, careless, son of a bitch. Stupid fucking invincibility complex, going to drag himself to an early grave.”

From his woeful position hunched over the trashcan, Klaus groaned unintelligibly, calling out from a high rapidly fading. Cursing anything and everything he could think of, Ben tossed the pills out of the open window, praying some desperate soul would take them before his brother followed in their footsteps.

With the jacket removed, the trail of hickeys continued their way down Klaus’ shirt, accompanied now by ominous scratches and cuts. Hesitantly, Ben continued his check-up down to his brother’s waist, where a crumbled twenty-dollar bill had been shoved into his waist band.

“Oh, Klaus. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Alone in the dim and gloomy room, there was no response but the murmur of his intoxicated brother slipping further and further into a blurry pool of oblivion. With the window open as it was, the cars passing by the street came into the bedroom, illuminating the dark with their motors. But all Ben could hear, all he could see, was the fire escape banging against the brick once more, a wayward spirit fleeing its last sanctuary.

Bang.

Clang.

Rattle.

Thud.

* * *

Somewhere behind him, the sound of metal on metal echoed, dangerously close to Klaus’ position. He needed to run faster, put more distance between him and the nutjob chasing him, but countless nights spent running on nothing but whatever alcohol and other poisons strangers on the street would buy him were beginning to take their toll. While he scurried down the dingy hallway, his head pounded relentlessly, frigid shivers wracking his body, Ben’s voice rang through his mind, cautioning him against his frivolous lifestyle.

Perhaps he should listen to his brother more often; he was currently much too close to being shot for his own comfort.

Up ahead, he hears someone yelling- Diego or Luther from the sounds of it- sounding after something suspiciously gunshot-like. Beside him, in front of him, behind him, the ghosts of the warehouse besiege him, begging him for mercy, freedom, attention. Klaus, for once, doesn’t hear their howls, instead focusing on the holes littering their bodies, the entry wounds which brought them down. Instead of the ghosts, all he can see is Ben.

Ben.

Ben.

Death.

He runs faster. Where the energy comes from, he does not care. He needs to get there, to fix Ben, to save Ben. It’s not like any of his siblings are going to fucking do it. Useless bastards. They’d probably just sit there, let him bleed out in some nothing warehouse in the name of their sacred mission.

Black spots dance before his eyes, spinning him out of control into a patch of rotting drywall. In its wake, an indent of his head is embedded into the wall, a cast of his face and fear. Crumbs of drywall are crushed beneath his shoes, footsteps following in his wake. He doesn’t register the unpleasant coolness of passing through the ghosts, only each second that has passed since that dreadful shot was fired.

Why were they even in this blasted building? Hadn’t the police been established for this very reason?

After an age of running in slow motion, he finally turned the corner to reveal the tableau he had been dreading the entire time. Diego and Luther completely immersed in some petty argument, Allison frantically attempting to mediate whilst Ben lied injured on the ground.

Heart knocking against his chest, Klaus knelt down beside his brother, removing layer after layer until the bullet wound was exposed bare.

The fucking gits were still debating the person responsible for letting the gunman slip away.

“Ben? You’re not allowed to die on me, okay? You die and I’ll bloody resurrect you myself just to fucking throw you off our roof.”

With no apparent concern for the copper round lodged in his stomach, Ben chuckled in response. “I wouldn’t dare cross you, vindicative bastard. Can’t even die with you around.”

The blood loss seemed to be relatively low, entry wound far from any essential organs if Klaus remembered his anatomy correctly- a not entirely reassuring statement. Klaus didn’t actually remember the last year of his biology lessons at all, he’d been far too high to register a second of it.

“Luther, you prick, get over here and help me with Ben.” Much to Klaus’ surprise, the blonde actually responded to his order, picking Ben’s weakened body up with ease.

“If I’m leaving, you three are going to have to round up the rest of them on your own. There’s still at least two in here somewhere, armed and dangerous.”

Why was he still standing there, as though Ben’s life wasn’t potentially slipping away with the tick of every second?

“Yes, yes, we get it, risk our lives over two fucking arseholes with pistols. Would you please go make sure our _brother_ doesn’t _die_ in your arms?”

Giving Klaus a grimace that promised serious retribution at a later date, Luther did trudge out of the building, towards safety. Once he’d disappeared from sight, Klaus felt his heart sigh with relief, settling ever so slightly in gratitude. Now, to catch the bastard who he’d been running from before. The bastard armed with a firearm, while Klaus had nothing but the power of love and a few ghosts who would not shut up about the explicit details of their deaths. It would have to be enough. What else did he have?

Hours later, after all malicious parties involved had been properly arrested- by actual officers instead of teenagers running around in masks- Klaus was finally brought home. Never had he been so eager to leave the Academy’s crusty limousine in his life, racing towards the mansion’s medical ward. Hargreeves’ disappointed calls faded into white noise, nothing entering his mind but the thud of every step bringing him closer to his brother.

Thud.

Thunk.

Thud.

Thump.

The glass doors slammed open with a worrying smash, a crack or two appearing in their delicate sheets.

“Ben! Ben.” An unmoving body lay on the cot, a concoction of antibiotics and fluids pumping into it through a canular. “C’mon, wake up Ben.”

A harrowing thought slipped into his mind and Klaus immediately scanned the room, for once actively seeking out the presence of a ghost while simultaneously praying the room was just as empty as before. Because Ben was still breathing, right? Their Mum had saved him, wrapped a perfect white bandage round and round his abdomen. He was fine, would be fine, was fine. The monitor displayed his active pulse, rising and falling with the rhythmic beeping.

Beep.

Beep.

Pause.

Beep.

* * *

When Ben awoke, he felt how he imagined Klaus would after a night of copious alcohol and drugs. His head was fuzzy, muffled as though someone had stolen not only his thoughts, but his memories too. As though his head had been bludgeoned in with a baseball bat, or some equally devastating object of brutal force. He recognised the room around him to be the mansion’s medical bay, the pale-yellow walls a comfort in their familiarity. The hum of the monitor, coolness of his pillow and quiet squeak of his mattress a blanket of security and stability. In the Hargreeves home, if you fucked up badly enough to make it into the medical bay, no one could touch you. Until you were released, you were blissfully exempt from the gruelling daily training exercises, tedious and strenuous family meals and the unending stream of bickering flowing between his siblings. Comparatively, the monotonous and isolated air of the medical bay was simply… peaceful.

“Ben! Benny! Mum said you were awake! And, if I’m honest, it was about time, really. I mean, two days? You have no idea how pissed Dad’s been about this- I never thought I’d see the day he yelled at Luther, but yesterday my prayers were all answered. It was beautiful, Ben-”

“Klaus. Trauma patient, remember?”

Klaus’ eyes went wide before his mouth abruptly shut, head nodding in acknowledgement. With exaggerated quietness, he made his way towards the cot, grimacing as he registered the pallor of Ben’s skin. All Ben could offer him was a wry smile in response.

Leaning in, Klaus adjusted his tone to a harsh whisper. “You sly fucker, don’t grin at me. You nearly died. Scared me halfway there too, mind you.”

Inwardly, Ben resisted the urge to scoff, picturing the uncountable number of times he’s watched Klaus stumble home half-dressed and half-conscious, unable to even recall his name. How close to death had his brother been then? How many hours had Ben spent awake and afraid, anxiously sitting by the window wondering if that night would be the night Klaus didn’t return? Watching his brother now, with darkness under his eyes and worry in his heart, he couldn’t bring himself to mention it. If Klaus had spent the last two nights in much the same way Ben usually spent his, he had suffered enough.

“Did you get hit anywhere else, besides the obvious?” To Ben’s amusement, Klaus began to pat down Ben’s body, as if he were hiding additional injuries away just to reveal them at a later date. As his fingers prodded a particularly tender patch, Ben winced, causing Klaus to jump back instinctively. “Shit! Sorry, sorry. Fuck! Did I make it worse?”

Slowly, careful not to shift the numerous cords and wires attached to him, Ben shook his head. “’M fine. Just still a bit tired, you know?”

Klaus nods his head in agreement, unsurprisingly. Ben knows all about the sleepless nights he does spend at the mansion, the vivid nightmares which suffocate his mind each time he closes his eyes. Ben’s room is right next door, and the mansion’s walls are thin. Though Ben longs to soothe him, when he hears his brother’s restlessness, he has his own demons to fight. The Horrors seem to never sleep, writhing all throughout the long night. The medications being pumped into him have temporarily soothed them, but Ben knows better than to fall down that path. He’s seen every possible effect inflicted upon Klaus. Were they both to become equally ill, neither of them would make it through the next year, let alone the rest of their lives.

Ben had to stay strong, for the both of them.

“Yeah. You should probably get some more rest, then. Mum said you’ve got at least another week in here; she doesn’t want your stitches reopening. But I’ll come back tomorrow, yeah? Make sure you’re not missing me too much.”

“I can guarantee that won’t be necessary, as if I’d want to hang out with a git like you.” As he walked towards the cracked doors of the medical bay, Klaus stuck his finger out to flip Ben off. Grinning properly to himself, Ben managed to return the gesture.

Secretly, he wished Klaus hadn’t left at all. Klaus had his own life, though. Ben wasn’t selfish enough to occupy its entirety. So, he sits alone in the medical ward, nothing but empty thoughts running through his mind.

Buzz.

Beep.

Squeak.

* * *

“We shouldn’t be here, Klaus.” Above Ben’s head, strobe lights flickered incessantly, switching from green to pink to blue to red to orange in a matter of seconds. A pattern, which, to Ben’s annoyance, did not align remotely with pulsing music blasting throughout the cramped dancehall.

To his right, Klaus is already downing his second shot of the evening, “If Hargreeves really didn’t want us here, we wouldn’t be here. Though I’m sure he’s disappointed about it. Two more of his soldiers gone rogue.” He tried to pass a shot off to Ben, but the smaller boy rebuffed the offer. “Your loss.” Klaus took the shot for himself.

The instant they’ve found a table, or there abouts, a small crowd rushes over them, all seeking Klaus for some reason or another. And in that moment, as a group of strangers cry his brother’s name with a foreign familiarity, Ben wants nothing more than to leave his body. And as the same strangers lead his brother to an inconspicuous bathroom at the back of the building, Ben thinks he can feel himself begin to cry.

This doesn’t seem to register to Klaus whatsoever, who emerges half an hour later smiling triumphantly, waving a fifty-dollar note in Ben’s direction.

Ben sighs under his breath, pretending not to notice the new bruises formed across his body, nor the suspicious substances smudged across his face.

“Well?” Klaus stands with his hands on his waist, looking down at Ben expectantly.

“What?”

“A thank you would be appreciated.”

Ben couldn’t help himself, he started laughing. “Are you serious?” Klaus’ face morphed into a frown. “You are. Oh god, you are. Klaus, if you think that this,” he gestured around at the hazy, lewd club they occupied, “is what I want, then you are most sorely mistaken.”

Anger flared up in Klaus’ face as he scrunched the bill into his pocket. “Fine. If you think you’re better than this, that’s fine. Just leave me to it, no one’s forcing you into all of this. And to think what I was going to buy us with this!”

Klaus stormed off, causing Ben to immediately stand and follow after him. “I don’t want you to buy me any fucking shit, and I certainly don’t think I’m better than you or any of the bullshit you pull! I just want my fucking brother, okay? All I want is to know each night that my brother is alive, safe at home instead of dead in some undisclosed ditch or alleyway. Is that too much to ask? Look what you’re doing to yourself!”

“At least I’m doing something! You’re wasting away in that house, we all are! Run away with me, Ben, live a little bit! Because what we’re doing every day, trapped inside an old man’s dream, is not living. All we bloody do is survive. I’m sick of it.”

Though the music volume hasn’t lowered an inch, Ben can only hear Klaus, as if the whole world has stopped for their stupid argument.

Klaus may be right about the Academy, but that doesn’t make him right about everything. Can’t he see the cost of his decisions is rising with every pill, every body, every note spent on fleeting ecstasy?

“It’s not going to last; the higher you go up, the more distance there is to fall. I’m not watching you come crashing down, Klaus. I don’t think I can survive that.”

Both pairs of eyes are directly aligned, both brothers staring the other down with equal parts love and anger.

“Then close your eyes.”

And Klaus is walking away, disappearing into the music. Ben says nothing, but inwardly, all his resolve crumbles, a tree rotted from the inside-out. While Ben collapses onto the linoleum flooring, a thousand termites break through his chest, all of its centre consumed. 

Crack.

Crack.

Snap.

Crash.

* * *

The smell of smoke was bitter in the air, tainting the otherwise pristine day. A yellow sun lazed about a pool of pale blue, soft clouds blowing around with the ever-so-gentle wind. One could almost call it perfect.

But the cinema stood at the centre of it all, a blackened shell of the once flourishing business.

If Ben could muster the humour, he would think it ironic such a day would be marred by the first public failure of the Umbrella Academy. Yet, sitting on the decimated sidewalk, wrapping his freshly sprained ankle, Ben simply did not have the goodwill to appreciate the comedy of the situation. Perhaps it had something to do with the sickening purple shade his ankle was beginning to turn; the throbbing, swelling mess he was forcing into the tight web of gauze. Each time he tried to fasten the metal clip to the end of the roll, his fingers fumbled, dropping the tiny silver piece again and again and again, losing it in the fine dust coating the entire street.

Ben wasn’t even crying; he didn’t have the energy. All he had was his loop.

Clip.

Drop.

Fumble.

Find.

Repeat.

There was a small part of him clinging to the idea that when he finally secured the bandage, the disaster of a mission would be erased, torn from history as though a page in a book. The rest of him knew exactly how foolish his fantasy was, but that wasn’t the part he listened to. He couldn’t afford to listen to it the rational parts. Couldn’t afford to abandon hope.

A trickle of blood was dripping into his mouth, bringing with it the memories he so desperately wanted gone. The panicked civilians, fanatical gunman, his terrified siblings. For they felt fear too, as much as Hargreeves wished to think otherwise. Luther had hesitated, second-guessing himself at every turn. Diego had stuttered for the first time in years, voice quivering with every negotiation he attempted. Allison had faltered, her voice failing her completely. And Klaus had… been strangely distant from the entire encounter, watching from behind a psychedelic haze. When the body of the gunman had been torn apart by his own explosion, what had Klaus seen? What had gone through his mind as his siblings had lunged desperately for cover, running blindly for their lives?

Had he even seen anything at all?

As much as the thought scared him, Ben suspected the later to be most accurate. After all, he wanted Klaus to have missed the moment the shock wave threw Ben into the popcorn machine, shattered glass tearing through his clothes and into his skin. Wanted Klaus to be blissfully ignorant of the hurt wrenching itself through Ben’s body. That way, he had an excuse for stumbling out of the ruins alone, leaving his best friend to tend his wounds alone.

At least Ben would be left to his imagination in that regard; he and Klaus hadn’t spoken since their altercation at the club five weeks ago. Neither were wont to mend the rift.

When a shadow fell over Ben, he quickly brightened up, relieved to see Klaus had finally arrived. When the shadow was revealed to belong to Diego, he sunk again.

“D-Dad wanted me t-to make s-sure you were st-still alive.”

Though Ben attempted a tight smile, it ended up much more of a grimace. “Here I am. I could use some help standing up though, my ankle’s just about useless right now.”

Diego nodded, unwilling to risk stuttering any more than was necessary. A dust-covered hand reached down to meet Ben’s, pulling him free of the dented cement.

“Is everyone else okay?” He had to rip the band-aid off, there was no point in easing it loose. “No one else is missing, are they?”

A shake of the head this time. Ben didn’t feel much like talking either, so he just nodded back himself.

For the entirety of their drive home, the car was dead silent. For the entirety of their drive, Klaus refused to meet Ben’s eyes.

All Ben was left with was the churning of the traffic outside.

Beep.

Honk.

Crash.

Brake.

Stop.

* * *

Villains, Klaus had decided, really needed to get laid. It was the rational conclusion to draw; increased tension and frustration which they felt the need to vent extremely publicly and violently. Personally, Klaus thought it was a little disappointing no one had come up with the obvious solution to this problem; hookers. It was so simple! Alas, it seemed the wider expanse of the population did not share his specific brand of intellect, and crime continued.

Currently, the Umbrella Academy were attempting to thwart some human experimentation scheme, run in an underground, highly suspicious laboratory which was really just inviting attention. The gates were rusty, many of the window smashed and the car park deserted but for a few stolen ambulances. They’d successfully cornered the ringleaders of the operation in one of the surgical wards- neurology, supposing Klaus’ literacy still held true- but had entered a rather tedious sort of stalemate. The head of the group, Dr. Bastien, if her doctorate was to be believed, had a knife to one of their ‘willing’ participant’s throats, making it incredibly difficult to apprehend any of the bastards. Allison was truly giving it her best shot, rumouring as many of them down as possible, but unfortunately, the abilities of the Academy were far from secret and the ‘doctors’ had come prepared with earplugs. It was all proving rather infuriating, so Klaus had resigned himself to note each of the numerous ghosts present within the room, all unlucky victims of Dr. Bastien and her colleagues. However, the fact that none of them seemed capable of ceasing their moaning for even a second deterred him from this task rather quickly.

To his left, Luther was preparing for them to at last take drastic and definitive action using their Academy-branded signals. As he and his siblings moved subtly into position- taking care to make their movements seem as natural as possible- Klaus pointedly ignored Ben’s movements, ensuring his gaze did not once wander in his direction. To stare, to notice, to acknowledge, would be to concede defeat.

When Luther’s hand formed a fist behind his back, the team took this as their signal, rushing at their antagonists in a blur of chaos. And though Klaus was well-versed in chaos, he could not have prepared himself for the nightmare which followed their charge. To be fair, it had begun relatively well, a fairly routine confrontation, up until the moment the Horrors were released.

Each of the Hargreeves siblings knew the exact sounds which followed the Horrors’ release, the screeching, the squelching, the shrieking. Years of training and missions had made them far too familiar with the Eldritch beings which emerged from their brother’s chest. What they were not so used to was such a close proximity to them. Despite infinite attempts by Hargreeves to control and contain the Horrors, they remained their own creature, driven by bloodlust and fear alone. Because of this, Ben only tended to bring them forth when he was relatively isolated, with innocent parties well out of reach.

Today was different. Today, Ben had not released the Horrors at all; they had released themselves.

No one was off-limits.

The room erupted into a stampede, trapped beasts desperately fleeing imminent danger. Klaus found himself crudely stuffed into a supply closet; the door not quite shut behind him. Through the resulting crack, he could witness the occasional limb go flying, blood and clothing splatter against the once-white walls and broken windows. Cringing, Klaus pressed his eyes tightly shut, mentally placing himself at home lying baked on his bed. But the loss of sight only sharpened his hearing, and suddenly all he could hear was Ben.

And his screams of utter agony.

In the moment, he wanted nothing more than to shove his fingers in his ears and block it out completely, forget that kind of suffering could ever be inflicted upon his brother. But his stupid, stupid heart won out, reminding him over and over again that his _brother_ was indeed experiencing the pain which haunted Klaus’ dreams, and he forced himself out of the closet.

He regretted his decision instantly.

The Horrors had never been a particularly wonderful sight to behold, puckered arms of pulsing, raw flesh writhing in the air. Today, however, it was not the Horrors themselves which caused Klaus to recoil, rather, it was what they were doing to Ben. What would ordinarily be a mere portal for the Horrors to come through had become a dark and treacherous cavern, a cavity in his brother’s chest. And with every second, it seemed to grow larger, splitting Ben almost in two.

A violent string of curses flooded from Klaus’ mouth, as he hurried towards Ben, who had at this point fallen to the ground, eyes rolled into the back of his head. Klaus found himself transfixed, unable to move his gaze from that gaping hole, gleaming with blood and something undefinable.

“Ben! Shit, Ben. It’s gonna be okay, we just gotta calm them down.” His hands sat either side of Ben’s chest, pushing inwards, desperately trying to put his brother back together. Behind him, his siblings had become to creep out of hiding, pulled forward by the banshee’s wail. “You arseholes! Come and fucking help me!”

Why were they just fucking stand there? Couldn’t they see Ben needed them? This was life or death-

This was life or death.

Life or death.

Life or

death.

Death.

Death.

The Horrors refused to settle, keening relentlessly with their awful, shrill cry. Something horribly wet and salty was pouring down Klaus’ face, but he refused to acknowledge it. He’d left Ben all alone for months, and this is where it led him. How long had Ben been suffering by himself, with no one by his beside? How many times had Klaus left him to recover from the Horrors alone?

Christ, he was a selfish, selfish bastard.

“Will you fuckers please, please do something?” His siblings refused to budge. They stood to the side, wide-eyed and pale. Ever-so-slightly, Allison shook her head at him. “Why won’t you fucking help?”

He couldn’t differentiate between his hands and Ben’s body, crimson saturating them both. He shoved and pushed and squeezed and prayed, trying in vain to force the Horrors back in.

To bring his brother back.

Bring his brother back.

Back.

And that was when he realised, Ben had stopped screaming long ago.

All that was left was silence.

* * *

The funeral was closed casket, naturally. It would have been traumatic for Ben’s mangled body to have been put on display like that, no sight for children at all.

Klaus had laughed at that. Ben would have laughed to.

He had always beenone for irony.

Hargreeves, naturally, had pinned the entire thing on them. Obviously, it was the fault of the Academy, that the inter-dimensional beings residing in their brother’s chest had torn him apart. Obviously.

But as much as Klaus could scoff at the blame thrust upon him, he couldn’t shake it either. Because he’d abandoned Ben, in the end. Spent months in a facetious haze, drinking away the world around him. And maybe, just maybe, if he’d have been there, he could have actually done something, rather than shaking a lifeless body while his siblings watched in horror. At least Ben’s final months wouldn’t have been lived in isolation, filled with loneliness and rejection.

As Hargreeves droned on about their failures, Klaus felt the world around him begin to buzz. Though it felt inherently wrong, to be drunk at Ben’s funeral, he wasn’t sure he could cope without it.

No. He was sure he couldn’t cope without it.

When the funeral predictably turned to petty bickering, Klaus became all the gladder for the gentle hum of the liquor flowing through his veins, letting their squabbling fall into the background. At least Ben had managed to escape their bullshit.

And had left Klaus all alone in doing so. Standing in the snow, nothing but the wind’s eerie howls for company.

Unless…

No. Ben had moved on. Was probably eating caviar or doing some other pretentious bullshit in heaven.

But what if Ben was lonely too? It could be Klaus’ chance to make amends, rebuild the kinship he’d so carelessly tossed away. Not to mention, Klaus would have his best friend back once more.

As though nothing had ever changed.

Under the shelter of the gazebo, he tossed his umbrella to the side, leaning over the wooden balustrade. Fisting his hands, he turned his every thought towards his brother.

To his shock, they actually began to glow electric blue, as he felt a sort of shift emanate from behind him. For the first time since that fateful mission, a seed of hope began to blossom in his chest.

From the silence, a lost voice cut in.

“Klaus?”


End file.
